Self Deprivation
by registered independent
Summary: He realized as he saw her hand in hand with a man pressing kisses into her neck that he never meant to hurt her in the first place.


A/N: right, so. first story here. i claim no ownership except mystery character. i don't know how i feel about the ending yet honestly, so it's still up in the air whether i'll post an alternate ending, although i am usually categorically against such acts. read, review, criticize, do your thing.

**Self Deprivation.**

And with one step she was close to him, the kind of close where you're almost touching and seemingly hovering. She was close enough for him to smell the light scent of lilacs and peppermint. She was close enough for him to begin counting the freckles that graced her nose and cheekbones. She was close enough to reach out with delicate fingers and lightly begin tracing over his features.

Vincent felt his breath freeze.

She continued to drag her finger down the side of his face, stopping only when she could no longer do so because of the high collar of his cape. She bit her lip and withdrew her hand. She seemed unhappy to do so, longing to stay. Vincent saw all this in her eyes. Vincent didn't know what to do. Vincent remained silent and kept staring into her eyes until she reached toward his face again, only this time, rolling the collar down slightly.

"What are you…."

"Quiet, Vincent." She said, rolling it down further. His face was completely exposed, chin and all, and some of his neck too. She bit her lip again. And moved closer. Vincent still kept staring at her. This time, he could count the green specks in her eyes that he previously thought to only be gray. He could see himself in her eyes. He could see the way he looked bewildered and guilty and lost. He could feel her breath leaving her. He could count her eyelashes. He saw the way her eyes fluttered softly when they blinked.

"This won't hurt." She breathed, her warm breath on his chin. "Well, it shouldn't. As a matter of fact, most people find it enjoyable…" She leaned in closer, still not touching him. He didn't think it was possible to be this close without having contact. She barely opened her mouth at all, finishing her sentence with "...and I thought you might too."

And with that, her lips were on his, soft, wanting. He suddenly felt the need to touch her, hold her, say things he hadn't in a long time. And with that arose more guilt, more bewilderment, and, although unexpected, terror. Vincent hadn't felt scared in a long time. There wasn't any need, really. He had proven time and time again that he would always somehow come out alive on the other end. After a while, he just skipped over fright and moved onto the next step automatically. But now...he was scared. He felt alive.

He pulled back, looking away from her. He wouldn't be able to bear the hurt in her eyes, the disappointment, the anger. It wasn't that he didn't want to-- that was the complete opposite. It was that he knew he shouldn't, he knew he couldn't, he knew it wasn't right. He wasn't right for her.

It seemed like ages past. Like glaciers formed and moved and left him here alone again in his cold place and mind. He was sure she left. Her was sure she turned on her heels and walked away. He thought he heard the floorboards creak and footsteps fade. He touched his lips, wishing they weren't alone. Wishing hers were there too. Wishing he hadn't denied himself another pleasure he deemed himself undeserving of.

"Well, don't look away." His eyes widened at the ground hearing her voice. He let his hand fall lifelessly from his face. Once again, with one step, she was close to him. He could feel three of her fingers brush his chin, planning on pushing it up, but she didn't have to. He lifted his head and looked straight into her eyes. Her green and grey eyes. His breath froze again.

"Well. What did you think of it?"

"That wasn't my first time kissing, you know." Vincent muttered sounding slightly irritated. But really, he wasn't, because although he _had _kissed people before, it never felt like _that_. He never felt like his body would collapse inwards. He never felt his lips tingle the way they did. He never felt his mind so in-tune with what he was doing and he definitely never though his skin would prickle so pleasantly. She stared back at him.

"I know. But that was the first time you were kissing with me. What did you think of it?"

He stared another moment.

"It was…" he began, not really knowing what he was going to say. "It was enjoyable."

Although he sounded slightly regretful, he felt almost the complete opposite. There was no way he was going to feel regretful about being kissed. He didn't even know he'd come and be kissed. Kissing happened often. It was natural. Only, it didn't usually happen to him, and it wasn't exactly first nature to him. But pretending for a moment felt nice. The only regret he had was that...well...she had chosen him. She could have done better. So much better. He looked away again.

"If it was so enjoyable…." He smelled lilacs and peppermint again. There she was, hovering, no contact. He wanted to smile, he really did, but he wouldn't allow himself. Something inside him wouldn't allow him to curve his lips and show at least some sort of emotion. He didn't face her. Time inched by some more.

"I won't ever be good enough, will I? I'm competing with the dead." He could hear the malice in her words and the hurt in her chest. He could hear her breaths become deeper. He finally looked up at her to see her flushed cheeks. But those eyes. Those green and grey and watery eyes. And suddenly his heart felt like it was about to burst, like he had just wrenched it out and she was beginning to stomp on it. Repeatedly.

"...I'm not your type."

Now he was joining her in the massacre of his heart and all emotions he owned. They were throwing matches into the empty cavity he now had in his chest. Carved out the human part of his brain and left him with nothing but enough to breathe and walk and talk. But not to feel. And he seemed to have also joined in the fun kicking around his heart.

A tear slid down her face.

"You're right. I'm still _alive_."

Now that was bitter. He knew he deserved it. He knew as he walked that tear slid further and further down her face. He wanted to touch her face. He wanted to wipe that tear away. He wanted her to lean against his body again. But he wouldn't do that, because as soon as he touched her, as soon as he'd stop that tear, he'd lose self-control, and he'd _allow _her to keep going after him. He'd _allow _her too keep doing these things to him. He wasn't against this because of his own sake, he was far too comfortable with her and enjoyed it. It was for her sake, she'd be punished by the gods for helping him. Associating with him. Breathing his name into his own lips. And so the battle of his own wills ensued, but in the end, he gave in, brushing the tear away with his thumb. She flinched.

He really hadn't expect it to hurt as much as it did. And yet, as she moved away and winced at him for a split second, he felt her throw more kerosene on the painful fire already burning inside him. And yet, it felt good. It felt good to know that he hurt her. Not because he wanted to hurt her, no, that was the painful part, but because if he hurt her, there was no way she'd go back to him. Right? And she'd never allow herself to go further. Right? Because at this point, Vincent wouldn't be able to say no. His mouth wouldn't say it no matter how hard his brain screamed.

"I hate you, Vincent Valentine."

Her eyes didn't look it, though. There wasn't hatred. Instead, there was regret. For what, though? Probably kissing him. She was probably regretful for even coming in the first place and stringing him along all those months and for even knowing him in the first place. That was the one. She was regretful that she even knew him. Many people felt that way. He felt that way. He was sure she was gone that time. She couldn't have stayed after that. After he completely denied her. And in turn, she showed her true repulsion. She was gone. He should feel better.

He couldn't breathe.

"Yeah. Join the club." He said it to himself, mostly, and the rest to no one. She wasn't there anymore. At least he thought so until lilacs and peppermint so thinly on the breeze. She was there again.

"Why are you--"

"Here?"

Her hands felt soft and warm in his pale hands. It was weird the way her fingers so perfectly fell into place laced in his. And how things felt too natural. And how his heart steadied with her near. And how different her emotions read. And how cold her stare was.

"You aren't only punishing yourself, you know."

He realized as he saw her hand in hand with a man pressing kisses into her neck that he never meant to hurt her in the first place.


End file.
